“YOU WILL MEET GOD,” declares the small billboard, standing in a field next to Interstate 78.
It’s nearly 10 p.m., Easter night. Beside me, my wife is threading our van between the tractor trailers on this endless ribbon of asphalt. I reach over to hold her hand as she drives. She responds with a squeeze.
Behind me is 10-month-old Seth, asleep in his car seat. Beside him is 2½-year-old Tom, silent after singing Easter alleluias all day. He clutches a little toy truck and buries himself in a fleece blanket.
Behind us are homes filled with family and people who love us. Ahead is the home we’ve made for ourselves.
The moon, full and orange, hangs low over the horizon. Stars float motionless overhead.
And I know the little billboard was right — it was just the right place and time to meet.